


heartbeat on the high line

by multiverse (infrequency)



Series: you, on my skin [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No Actual Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infrequency/pseuds/multiverse
Summary: i will come back from the dead for you.Annoyance is a bitter coated pill, thy name is Choi Seungcheol. Jeonghan stops chasing shadows, and the ghosts come back to life.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Series: you, on my skin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901848
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	1. come back for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghosttopiary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosttopiary/gifts).



>   
>  music for this: cardigan - taylor swift; invisible strings - taylor swift; begin again - purity ring; old wounds - pvris; i was married (cover) - ruth b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _once in twenty lifetimes._  
>  expanding on another sensory prompt from twitter. this has some references to grieving and MCD (but starts with the knowledge that they're not actually dead).

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired  
And you'd be standin' in my front porch light  
And I knew you'd come back to me

– taylor swift, cardigan

I will come back from the dead for you.

– richard siken

🕸

Curiosity is how it begins. Curiosity grabs Jeonghan’s attention and leads him down an alleyway, taking careful steps as he follows the shadows he’s been chasing.

Spider-Man is quick, but Jeonghan is, too. The sound of his name on the man's lips is enough to catch him off-guard, almost. It's a weary sigh that unlocks a feeling in Jeonghan that he hasn't felt for months.

“You shouldn't be here, Yoon Jeonghan-ssi.” Concern paints a pretty picture, one that he can't see painted on Spider-Man’s red and white face. Rain beats down heavy on his reflective eyes, and his arms are crossed. Jeonghan swallows hard. He's a recognized crime beat journalist, so it shouldn't surprise him that his name is _known_.

Jeonghan’s grip on the umbrella handle tightens all the same.

“It’s coming down.”

Spider-Man’s shoulders shake, and his mask curls up, sitting just above his lips. He has a beautiful smile. Water catches alongside the cut of his jawline, dripping onto the spandex clinging to his body.

He can't see his face, but Jeonghan’s heart skips a beat at the hint of the person underneath.

“Did you really follow me all the way out here to talk to me about the weather?”

 _Following_ is such a strong word. If his feet carried him to this alleyway because he saw the web-slinger enter before him, then chalk it up to pure fascination and not anything more.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Spider-Man,” he scoffs, shifting the umbrella in his hands. “I simply wanted to say hello.”

He makes a noise like he can tell Jeonghan is lying, which sends heat down his spine. Do-gooders and their moral compass, pointing north towards a liar. He knew someone like that once.

“If not for me, then for what? The scenic views of Seoul’s garbage?” Spider-Man sounds amused having caught him out, but he doesn’t miss the staggering twinge of concern. What does it feel like, having such a bleeding heart that you _care_ about the people you owe nothing to? The umbrella shifts to Jeonghan’s other hand, resting against his shoulder.

“Oh, don’t be so down on yourself. One man’s trash, you know.” That earns him another laugh, and _oh_ , it’s a beautiful, rewarding sound, louder than the last, but more real. Warmer. More like–

_Recognition._

Jeonghan catches the reflective eyes go wide before he feels the brush of lips against his cheek, catching the scent of cologne that still sticks to his sheets, no matter how many times he’s washed them. No matter how many times he’s prayed for him to come back. No matter how many times he wishes to forget, he is there. Always under his skin. His name flies up to the surface, yanked up as if attached to a silk-spun thread.

The impossible made true. A dead man, come back to life.

_“Seungcheol?”_

A _thwip_ of web against the brick, and he's slipped out of reach again.

The umbrella hits the ground, and there’s no telling where the rain stops and the tears begin.

🕸

There is love. Then there is Choi Seungcheol, all-enveloping, projecting warmth to keep anyone in his orbit in the light. Without him, Jeonghan is a wilted plant craving the sun.

He’s gotten used to the darkness. He’s woken up to the dark every day and made friends with the shadows. But this new knowledge is like direct sunlight, the first fostering rays in a long time.

In hindsight, Jeonghan’s growing Spider-Man curiosity has perspective. The good that he found himself drawn to is the good that lives in Seungcheol. So it feels like having an opaque curtain pulled back, revealing the face hiding behind the blurry lines. It’s a _read_ on him in a way that makes Jeonghan feel naked and a little deranged.

It makes the masked shape he sees when he closes his eyes at night feel less illicit. The feelings that swim to the surface with it now are another story.

Spider-Man’s emergence into the greater public consciousness as a beacon of righteousness was something to hold onto when everything went sour. Seungcheol’s disappearance, then being officially declared _–_

Looking back, the timelines of Seungcheol’s disappearance and Spider-Man’s seeming omnipresence in Seoul have context. The tragedy that wiped out a significant section of Yongsan left a scar on everyone, Lee Seokmin and his father’s company most of all.

No one has forgotten how Spider-Man nearly died—putting a sheen of forgiveness over everything with a new perspective. You can’t protect a city and a fiancé without sacrificing one over the other.

🕸

Seungcheol’s old phone number has been disconnected for years now. Irritation creeps into Jeonghan’s mind and takes root.

What he thought was lost is still fresh enough on his tongue that he can still taste ash around the words, “ _My fiancé is dead._ ” He hasn’t tried to date yet, can barely stomach the thought without the two-way guilt of knowing it’s what Seungcheol would’ve wanted for him, but still feeling faithful to the person who was his soulmate.

But were they soulmates if it was so easy for Seungcheol to decide without him?

He watches Spider-Man swing away from a scene in the reflection of a cafe window and tries to tamp down the resentment that burns like acid in the back of his throat.

🕸

It’s three weeks after his reunion that he gets a visitor, cross-legged in leather and perched on the side of his couch. Jeonghan nearly shits himself as he flicks the lights on after shuffling out of his shoes in the doorway. “Fucking _shit–_ ”

“Language,” the man scolds, mouth twisting cruelly. His movements are cat-like, raking through his hair with an air of grace that’s a little unsettling. Jeonghan mentally flicks through his mental dossier of Spider-foes, inching toward the kitchen. He's tall, lithe, and speaks in a quiet voice, careful and precise like tiny papercuts. He touches everything like he needs his hands to see, caressing the photo frames on his coffee table as he passes by.

“I mean you no harm. Though I would love to take that rock off your finger.”

Jeonghan’s thumb instinctively rubs against the ring, snarky comment rising in his throat before he decides against it. He’ll let him monologue, figuring it’ll get the villain out sooner if he’s honest about not wanting to cause harm.

“I just wanted to come by,” Black Cat croons, leaning over the table to grab for a picture frame. “See what the fuss is about. And my God, you _are_ a pretty one. He does like pretty boys, huh?”

His sentences are soft in delivery but an arrow to the heart. Jeonghan doesn’t want to know what the hell he means by liking pretty boys. Or how he knows who he is – was – to Spider-Man.

“I suppose,” Jeonghan begins, reaching over for a knife. Because he can’t help himself, he adds, “But I’m the one with the ring.” He remembers most of what self-defense taught him. _First, the heel of your palm to the nose, then..._

Reaching for the knife earns him a scowl, which is easily read even behind the mask covering his eyes. Black Cat’s eyes cut dangerously toward the woodblock, and he lets out a delighted sound, sending a chill down his spine.

“Oh, do _relax_ , Yoon Jeonghan-ssi. I’m not going to kill you. Today, at least.” He sets the photo frame down before bounding toward the kitchen counter, sliding a slip of paper toward him.

“I only agreed to come by because he asked me to,” Black Cat sniffs dramatically, checking his fingernails before speaking again. “He cares about you, you know. Your Spider-friend?” Black Cat makes his way back to the open patio door but pauses before stepping out.

“Just. Give him a call. _Charming_ home.”

Jeonghan takes a sleep aid that night. He dials the phone number in the morning and sends out a slew of curses in Black Cat’s name when he finds his nice dining set has gone missing. _At least he has taste_ , he thinks angrily, lighting a cigarette on the patio.

A soft voice answers, the one he’s been dreaming about for years. _“I’ve been waiting for you.”_

🕸

Late September brings a bit of a chill to Seoul, and Jeonghan regrets agreeing to meet outside as the sun begins to set. The latte cupped securely in his hands has long gone cold, but he sips at it anyway. It gives him something to do that isn’t nervously finicking with his phone for the hundredth time since he plopped himself on a bench outside the quaint Mangwon cafe. (Directly off the line so he can escape if it's too hard. He's thought this through.)

Jeonghan’s stomach turns a little when he recognizes the mural down the street as a backdrop in one of his most cherished memories. He says a small prayer for himself. _May the memories no longer be a burden and may he get closure from this meeting._

It’s a little sickening to think that Seungcheol has been in Hongdae this whole time. How often have their paths crossed, and he’s been too engrossed in something else to recognize it?

Seungcheol slides onto the bench next to him but keeps a polite length between their bodies. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.” From the corner of Jeonghan’s eye, he can see him in his oversized red jacket zipped up, hood pulled over his head. “I owe you an apology.”

“You owe me two years of rent, too,” Jeonghan sniffs, taking a swig of his lukewarm drink. Seungcheol laughs, triggering a sensory memory of lost weekends and last kisses goodnight. A lump forms in his throat, enough that it hurts to swallow. Seungcheol catches on, reaching out to pat his knee before faltering.

“You know why I had to do it, right?” How _self-righteous_ of him.

Anger flares through Jeonghan like a bolt of lightning, crackling under his skin. His nostrils flare as he speaks in a low, thin voice. “You didn’t give me a _choice_ ,” he hisses. “You just decided for both of us and left _me_ to pick up the pieces.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says, and to his credit, he sounds sincere enough that Jeonghan feels it. Despite his conflicting feelings, it’s a punch in the gut for him.

“I don’t expect us ever to go back to the way we were before,” he continues, “Because even then, we were never really on the same playing field.”

His hand fits over the shape of Jeonghan’s wrist, thumb brushing over the knob and soft inside. “But if you’ll have me, I’d love to have the chance to do better this time.”

“Two years of letting me think you were dead. I think you’ve jumped off too many tall buildings if you think it’ll be that easy.” Seungcheol balks but shakes it off easily before reverting to begging.

“One chance. Please.”

Jeonghan turns to look at him now, really seeing him. He's filled out and become broader, the set of his jaw more attractive with age. His hair is a pale pink now, matching the soft pout of his lips.

Annoyance is a bitter coated pill, thy name is Choi Seungcheol. Annoyance that reminds him of simpler times, the hard swallow of another missed date, of mysterious bruises he claimed came from the gym, of the first missed call that became fifty.

It's unfair how handsome he is, even when Jeonghan wants to strangle him with his webs.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says wearily, slowly. “But you tell me everything. Starting now.” He tilts his head, making a show of just how well he can listen attentively. The words that come out next surprise even him, heart speaking before his mind can catch up.

“And once you’ve told me _everything –_ and I mean, _everything, Choi Seungcheol –_ you get one date where you pay. One cheek kiss max, no funny business.”

Seungcheol cracks a smile then, and it's like dawn cracking over the horizon. “Is it okay to say that I never stopped loving you, Hannie?”

“No,” he says, but he laughs anyway, patting Seungcheol’s knee before setting his drink down on the ground. He's going to swindle another drink out of him for now. It's the least he could do. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

🕸

It takes them up until the week before Chuseok to burn through everything. Seungcheol climbs in through the window every evening as Jeonghan winds down with a cup of tea. He becomes enough of a fixture on Jeonghan’s couch – _their_ couch, the one that Seungcheol insisted would match the rest of the room despite being an awful neon yellow, and once upon a time, they christened it _twice_ – that the last day is a little bit of a disappointment.

Sometimes he forgets that Seungcheol isn’t a figment of his imagination but a real, living, breathing person. He’s real and present, breathing and alive, something that still feels like a dream. Despite Seungcheol’s normally tactile nature, he keeps a respectful distance from Jeonghan. The few times they’ve touched, he’s felt the static electricity roll through him, reminding him of a happier time.

Seungcheol sips quietly at the final dregs of his tea, setting his mug down on the coffee table in front of them.

“Do you have any questions?” he asks with finality, fixing his stare to the photo frame on the end table. It’s the same one that Black Cat had picked up, a picture of Jeonghan giggling into Seungcheol’s shoulder, his engagement ring sparkling on his finger.

“Does Seokmin know?” Jeonghan asks. Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair, shifting up onto his socked feet on the couch. “Yes and no. He saw me a while ago just by accident, but he doesn’t know I’m Spider-Man.” That answer appeases him, for now.

The rain distracts Jeonghan from pressing further, beating down on the window and cascading into the open-air patio. Seungcheol blows a raspberry, shoving his hands into his hoodie. “'S’gonna suck swingin’ home,” he says, shrugging his hood on. His backpack is sitting next to his shoes in the doorway, and the sight of it makes Jeonghan’s heart jump to his throat.

“Don’t,” Jeonghan blurts out. It’s without thought, but he considers it as he deliberates his next words. “Seriously, Seungcheol-ah, it’s coming down hard, just stay in the guest bedroom.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, shrinking further into his jacket. “I don’t want to impose–”

Jeonghan interrupts him with a steely look, throwing a glance to the living room window, where he can see the rain splatter against the window. “This is your home, too, Cheollie.”

Before any further protests can pull from Seungcheol, Jeonghan is back on his feet and pressing a towel into his arms. “Go shower, Spidey. Before I change my mind.”

“Thank you, Jeonghan.” He says, and the sincerity warms him to the bone. Jeonghan reaches out, brushing his thumb against Seungcheol’s bottom lip. He can feel the scars from split lips and other injuries under the pad. Seungcheol’s eyes drop, and Jeonghan warms under his gaze.

He steps back and clears his throat.

“Good night.”

🕸

Jeonghan’s new apartment outside of Seodaemun is a little smaller than his last. It’s a good move, fewer things around to remind him of the past, and of Seungcheol.

It opens up the possibility of new beginnings.

Curiosity brings Spider-Man to his patio at night. Jeonghan stops chasing shadows and starts letting them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [ria](http://ao3.org/users/skateboardachoo) and [isabel](http://ao3.org/users/archaeocyaths) for reading this over for me, to sig who gave me this prompt in the first place, and to the parksborn tag, my one true love.


	2. invisible string, tying you to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seokhancheol as a Treat, <500 words unbetaed.
> 
> time, mystical time  
> cutting me open, then healing me fine.

Kissing Choi Suengcheol is magic. It's belief in something spiritual turned to reality. Everything is new again, and their love gets a second chance at life.

His muscles are firm and tightly corded under Jeonghan's fingers, but he's still every bit the whiner he was when they lost their virginity to each other at 17, with goosebumps chasing behind the trail his hands take. They had rushed back then, craving skin to skin. Jeonghan remembers what it was like to want him, want to touch, and getting to learn the song of Seungcheol's body. 

They take their time now, relearning each other's sounds and movements. He still sings for him.

Seungcheol’s mouth is liquid heat, licking into Jeonghan's own with such cloying sweetness that he almost forgets the presence of another in their room. Almost.

Beautiful Lee Seokmin, Jeonghan's savior in the midst of the storm even as his own life crumbled under his fingertips, even when his best friend had gone missing and his father had been sent away. While Jeonghan rebuilt his life, he was faced with rebuilding a legacy. That same Lee Seokmin holds Jeonghan daintily around his waist with his lips pressed against his shoulder, waiting for permission. 

It's a regret Jeonghan feels, that in the end that it was Seungcheol he chose _first_ when Seokmin's feelings were painted violet on his skin. Hard to miss, free-bleeding, but bandaged over again and again. He gives and gives, and sometimes Jeonghan worries that he takes too much. He catches Seokmin's eye in the mirror and he's smiling, but nervously. Seungcheol says something that makes the nerves melt away, revealing that devotion underneath.

Seungcheol loves Seokmin, too, in a language that only childhood friends can speak. The dynamics of their relationships are an ever-shifting flowchart, with arrows pointing to and from each other, curving with familiarity that only decades of being a unit of Seokmin-Seungcheol-Jeonghan, all three and no one ever coming between could weave. 

Jeonghan has always been the brave one of the three, his hand held close to his chest until the right time. He plays his cards and creates a new path, reaching behind him to pull Seokmin's head closer, leaving the honey-warmth of Seungcheol's mouth to the less familiar mint-and-coffee taste of Seokmin's lips. He sighs so prettily when they connect.

"Hyung," he lilts, and warmth fills his heart like a flood. 

He's loved Seokmin before, had him in illicit ways that Seungcheol will never know. Had him in ways that brand him for a lifetime, and with a trained distance of emotion between the two of them, claiming curiosity and duty. 

Funny how that is, how a decision to step into an alleyway can bring the dead come back to life, or to go to a different café will bring an old friend into your bedroom. Into your heart.

Jeonghan chuckles into Seokmin's kiss, shaking his head when the concerned faces on either side of him ask why.

“No reason,” he turns his head back and reaches for Seungcheol's hand, dragging it to Seokmin so his own is intertwined between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [talk 2 me on cc](https://curiouscat.me/infrequenced)


End file.
